


Would You Rather

by memequeen1127



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Dark Will Graham, First Kiss, M/M, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Murder, Suspense, Violence, Would You Rather game, mentions of past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memequeen1127/pseuds/memequeen1127
Summary: “Brian’s about to start us off!” Mason said happily. “So, Brian, what will it be? Would you rather electrocute yourself, or electrocute Antony?”Will was prepared to play a bored rich man's game in order to save Abigail's life. He was not prepared for the innocent children's game to turn into a sadistic test to determine who will survive the night — and hecertainlywasn't prepared for Hannibal Lecter.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 34
Kudos: 176





	Would You Rather

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the movie "Would You Rather" on Netflix, but I have greatly changed the plot to fit the Hannibal characters so if you've already seen it, I promise I will surprise you!
> 
> The only characters who know each other at the start of the story are Hannibal and Mason, and Will and Abigail, as will be explained. Nobody else knows each other, and I have added one original female character for plot purposes ;)
> 
> The "Graphic Depictions of Violence" warning tag cannot be overstated! Enjoy <3

“Spaghetti again, Will?”

Will huffed in mock offense as he poured the marinara sauce over the pasta. “Don’t pretend to complain. You eat it up everytime.”

Abigail smiled weakly. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep up that tradition tonight.”

Will placed the bowl of spaghetti down and joined his younger sister at the table. She did look weaker today, with her pale face and pinched brow. That was a bad sign, because she just had dialysis earlier that day.

“I can make you some garlic bread,” Will offered softly, concerned.

Abigail patted his hand, which he had unknowingly clenched into a fist beside his plate. “It’s okay. I’ll eat some pasta, and wash it down with crackers.”

Will looked away. He knew she would nibble on the noodles, and _maybe_ eat a full cracker.

“Yeah, okay,” Will forced out. “Whatever’s best for you.”

Abigail took her hand away to drink some water, and Will scarfed down his spaghetti. He avoided eye contact, and his sister knew not to push him. She was always good about giving him space, just as he was for her. They knew each other well, since they were all each other had.

Will was terrified that soon, if Abigail didn’t get a kidney transplant, he would lose her and be left with nothing.

Abigail had been on the organ donor list for about eight years now, after she was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease at age nine. When Will was 25 and scrambling for a teaching job, their parents died in a car crash. He moved back to Baltimore and became her legal guardian, the one who took care of her and made most of her healthcare decisions. 

Will loved Abigail, and would do anything for her.

He got a job teaching at the University of Maryland, but only as an assistant professor. The money was enough to provide for basic living, but Abigail’s healthcare costs were too much. They were swimming in debt.

Will didn’t care about the money, though. He just wanted his little sister to be okay.

He was 32 now, Abigail was 17, and they were still waiting on the donor list since Will wasn’t able to donate his own kidney. Abigail had moved up, but only because she had gotten gradually worse. She had end-stage renal disease now, and required dialysis a couple times a week to make sure her kidneys didn’t completely shut down.

Time was running short, and Will was desperate for whatever options he could find. He was close to going out on the street and asking strangers to follow him to the hospital to get tested and see if they were a match for his sister.

Abigail said goodnight soon after Will finished his dinner, pulling him out of his thoughts. He bade her goodnight then looked to her plate, sad to see that he was right. She only ate a few bites of spaghetti, and half a cracker.

* * *

The next day, Will went back to the dialysis clinic while Abigail was sleeping. The nephrologist, Dr. Crawford, didn’t seem surprised to see him. Will had been hounding him about Abigail’s condition, and connections to possible donors lately, since things haven’t looked good.

“Will,” Dr. Crawford greeted, ushering him inside his office. 

Will automatically sat in the chair in front of his desk, like he had so many times before. It was only after a few seconds that Will realized that there was another person in the room, and his anxiety about Abigail morphed into confusion.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you already had an appointment,” Will coughed, eyes scanning the unfamiliar man seated on Dr. Crawford’s couch in the corner of the room.

His hair was sticking up at odd angles, purposely held together by a thin layer of hair gel. It was obvious that the man was going for an “attractive eccentric” look, but Will just thought he looked like a mess.

His clothing wasn’t helping, as the colors and patterns looked all wrong on the pale man’s physique and didn’t compliment his square glasses. Will’s brow furrowed as he realized the man’s clothes were expensive, and wondered what an affluent person was doing in a community low-cost dialysis clinic. If he had kidney issues, surely he could afford better care.

The man didn’t sit well with Will, a first impression that was solidified when Will’s eyes fell to where he was sitting on the couch. There was a pile of shelled pistachios on one side of him, and a mound of empty shells on the other.

_Rude_ , Will thought.

“Will, you’re not interrupting anything. This is Mr. Mason Verger, and I was actually just telling him about you,” Dr. Crawford explained.

Will shot Dr. Crawford an apprehensive look then turned back to Mason Verger. “Oh? Verger as in the meat packing dynasty?”

Mr. Verger smiled, and Will could see little green flecks in his teeth from the pistachios. “Yes, Mr. Graham, although we mostly focus on pigs now. Jack has explained your situation to me, and I think I may be in a position to help.”

Will snapped his head back to Dr. Crawford and narrowed his eyes, suspicious of this strange rich man offering help, but unable to ignore the bubbles of hope in his stomach.

“Help how?” Will questioned.

Dr. Crawford folded his hands. “Mr. Verger heads several philanthropic foundations directed towards education. The Verger family is very influential and charitable.”

“Education?” Will echoed. “My sister needs a new kidney.”

“My family charities focus on education, Mr. Graham, but I like to sponsor individual people in need, such as yourself,” Mr. Verger cuts in, standing up from the couch and leaving a mess behind as he walks over to Will.

Will tried his best to disguise the distaste in his tone as he spoke. “That’s very nice, but money won’t solve my problem. Are you a matching donor?”

Mr. Verger smiled and ignored his question. “Dr. Crawford referred to my family’s _influence,_ Mr. Graham. Let’s just say I have some sway over the board that sets the donor list.”

Will raised an eyebrow and looked at Dr. Crawford again.

“It’s not entirely orthodox,” Dr. Crawford acknowledged. “But Will, I truly think it’s your best shot. Mason helped my wife get a revolutionary cancer treatment, and because of it she’s been in remission for about five years now.”

Will glanced back and forth between the two men, weighing his suspicion and personal dislike of Mr. Verger against the shining hope that Abigail could be completely healed.

It was barely a question.

“What do I have to do?” Will asked.

Dr. Crawford smiled thinly and Mr. Verger patted him hard on the back. Will leaned away from the touch.

“I’m hosting a special dinner party at my home tonight. A sort of contest,” Mr. Verger replied, grinning. “All you have to do is attend, and win the contest.”

Will nodded. He wanted to ask what kind of contest, but already knew that the man wouldn’t tell him. He had always been good at reading people, and he read Mr. Verger as a discourteous man who loved to play with people while keeping them in the dark.

It didn’t matter. Will would do anything for Abigail, and enduring a few hours of this rich man’s dinner party and winning his “contest” was a small price to pay for his little sister to get a kidney transplant.

“I’ll be there,” Will affirmed.

“Wonderful!” Mr. Verger exclaimed. “I have your address from Dr. Crawford. A car will pick you up at 7 p.m. tonight.”

Will stood up without another word. He was so intent on leaving Mr. Verger’s presence and heading home to tell Abigail the good news, that he completely missed the way Dr. Crawford’s face fell as he walked out the door.

* * *

“Mason, please come in,” Hannibal greeted, holding the door to his spacious office open wide.

Mason didn’t bother with a greeting of his own and strode inside, plopping down on the patient chair directly across from Hannibal’s.

Hannibal was far used to Mason’s rudeness by now, and after ruminating on the man’s gracious offer for the past week, he was now ready to do something about it.

“Dr. Lecter, my favorite psychiatrist! Have you given more thought to attending tonight’s engagement?”

Hannibal met Mason’s sneer with his usual emotionless stare. “Indeed I have. I would be honored to attend such a fascinating event.”

Mason looked pleasantly surprised, like he did not expect his well-mannered psychiatrist to be interested in his gruesome game. He had explained it in detail to Hannibal the week before, after failing to conceal his excitement for the upcoming contest. 

Hannibal was very intrigued by Mason’s description. He had been growing bored for quite some time, and even the occasional hunting and feasting upon a rude pig did not bring him the delight it once did. He still did it because of the pride and pleasure it brought him to effortlessly evade law enforcement, but he took less pleasure in the violent acts themselves.

Mason recovered from his surprise quickly. “Well, I am delighted to hear that! I’ll have a car pick you up at 7, then?”

Hannibal mentally ran the numbers. He didn’t have any patients after 5 p.m., and two hours would be just enough time for him to return home and get ready for the dinner party.

Hannibal nodded and Mason clapped his hands together in glee. “I am so pleased! I’m glad that my preparations for your participation were not in vain. Dr. Lecter, you’re my first guest who knows exactly what they’re getting into. I cannot wait to see how this shakes things up!”

Hannibal held back a severe smile. He was positive that he wouldn’t fail to surprise Mason.

“Now, usually I reward the winner with money or connections. I am not blind to your wealth, and I doubt that you need my help with anything,” Mason mused, thinking hard. “What would you like if you win, Dr. Lecter?”

This time, Hannibal allowed a small smile to show on his face. “I would love one of your finest pigs.”

Mason paused, then shrugged. “Whatever you say! That’s not a high price at all.”

Hannibal took a seat in his own chair. “Quite right.” He glanced at the clock. “Our session is starting. What would you like to discuss today?”

Mason laughed, then leaned forward in his chair. “Let me tell you about this young man I met today, the eighth and final guest…”

* * *

Will got out of the brand-new black Cadillac SUV and looked up at the biggest house he’d ever seen in his life.

It was more like a mansion. A huge, southern gothic style mansion complete with numerous windows and smooth white stone. Will gawked for a couple seconds, then shook off the magnificence of the giant residence and followed the driver up the numerous steps. He was ushered through a large wooden door and into a grand front entryway, the floor shining black marble.

He didn’t get to see much of the rest of the place, however, as the stoic driver opened a nearby door for him and gestured to enter.

Will did, finding himself in a fair-sized room that seemed to function as a parlor. Multiple people were lounging around the room in cushy chairs or politely talking in groups. His social anxiety set in then and he immediately scanned the room, quietly sighing in relief when he saw a small, self-serve bar area.

Will went over and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the top shelf.

“You’re not going to get a read on the other guests?” A sly voice said beside him.

Will turned to find a young brunette woman. She was dressed in high-quality clothing, and Will raised an eyebrow as she made herself a cosmopolitan.

“Aren’t you?” Will deflected. “The host should make an effort to socialize with guests, right?”

The woman inclined her head. “My brother is technically the host, not me. I’m in charge of making everyone feel comfortable as they socialize, not to socialize myself. And I find that comfortability is best achieved by pouring drinks.”

She looked pointedly at the glass in Will’s hand and he laughed. “Fair. I’m Will.”

“Margot,” she smiled faintly. “But my question is still unanswered. Aren’t you going to socialize with the other guests?”

Will took a sip of whiskey and scanned the room again. “I don’t need to socialize with them to get a read on them.”

At Margot’s puzzled look, Will sighed and indicated the group of people closest to them, lounging on the couches in the center of the room.

“These four. Two men on one couch, one obviously an alcoholic from how he’s avoiding glances at the other man’s scotch. Judging from scotch guy’s easy flirting with the women on the other couch and the pale line of skin on his left hand, I’d say he’s got more than a few extra-marital affairs.”

Margot laughed. “Pretty good. Alcoholic is Jimmy, womanizer is Brian.”

Will smiled. “The older woman, she looks tough. She’s not afraid to tease or tell Brian off, and she keeps smiling at the teenager next to her that leans into her space, shy. She probably has a younger sister who’s just as shy.”

Margot nodded. “That’s Beverly. Emma is the young girl.”

Will turned his attention to the rest of the people, a group of three congregated in the opposite corner. “The younger man smiles easily, and talks loudly. If I had to guess, I’d say he gambles and uses his mannerisms to distract from his cheating.”

Will shifted his gaze to the beautiful, blond, middle-aged woman next to him. “This woman talks slowly, like she’s very careful with her words. She’s also going through the wine pretty fast. I’d say she’s an alcoholic, not in recovery yet, but also… a psychiatrist, maybe.”

Will resists the urge to gag. He hated psychiatrists, and this woman was giving him very strong “I know better than you” vibes that were so common to psychiatrists.

Margot looked impressed. “Antony, and Bedelia.”

Will took another gulp of whiskey, and focused on the final man in the group.

He was the most attractive person in the room. His uncommon, exotic face was lightly lined, but his age only made him more alluring. His suit was as expensive as Will remembered Mr. Verger’s being, but it actually worked on this man. It was black with red plaid, and must have been tailored because it fit the man incredibly well.

His beautiful clothes and face weren’t the only things Will noticed. The man was very poised, almost regal, but Will could tell that he was ready for action at any time. Like a lion lounging in the sun, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

He was talking quite comfortably, eyes alight with excitement. Will licked his lips, which were suddenly dry.

“The last man… he’s well off. A lawyer, or a doctor. He’s used to hosting dinner parties, and genuinely enjoys them. He is not like the rest of the guests. He’s completely relaxed,” Will murmured.

Margot tapped her fingers on the bar. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter. What else can you infer, Will?”

Will noticed that Hannibal was the only person who Margot addressed by their full name and title; another thing to set the man apart from the crowd.

“It’s obvious no one knows each other, but...” 

Will watched how Hannibal’s eyes kept flicking to Emma, and wondered if she looked like someone he knew.

“You’re right,” Margot confirmed, pulling Will out of his analysis. “They don’t. They are only here, mostly, for similar reasons as you are.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Mostly?”

Margot’s eyes widened but before she could speak, a big, burly man entered the room and cleared his throat.

“Thank you for coming, everyone,” he said formally. “I am Cordell, the head butler. Dinner is about to begin, but before I escort you there I have a simple request.”

He indicated the large golden bowl on the table between Beverly, Emma, Brian, and Jimmy. “In the interest of politeness and discretion, your phones, wallets, keys, and other personal belongings are to be left here for the duration of the game.”

“I don’t like this,” Brian muttered.

Cordell smiled tightly. “I assure you, they will be safe.”

With absolutely zero hesitation, Hannibal stepped forward and calmly placed his possessions into the bowl with a clink. After him, the rest followed, until Will was the last to deposit his belongings into the bowl as well.

“Thank you,” Cordell said. “This way, please.”

People filed out behind the butler and Will went to follow, but paused when Margot did not move.

“You’re not coming?” Will asked.

“It’s not really my thing,” she responded quietly, taking a large gulp of her drink. “Good luck.”

Will nodded, again aware of how suspicious this night was but deciding not to care in the interest of Abigail. He turned back towards the door and was surprised to see Hannibal politely waiting for him.

“Mr. Graham,” he greeted warmly. “After you.”

Will narrowed his eyes. Why was this man singling him out?

“Dr. Lecter,” he returned with a drawl, sweeping out of the room in front of Hannibal as prompted.

It wasn’t until Will entered a small dining room with the rest of the guests and found his place card, elegantly labeled only _Will,_ that he realized Hannibal called him by his last name.

Will’s eyes snapped to Hannibal’s across the table. The doctor casually sat in his designated place, and inclined his head to Will with a slight upturn to his lips that only Will seemed to notice as a smirk.

Will huffed and broke their gaze. He knew there was something off about this man. He would probably be Will’s biggest competition in whatever game they were playing.

He distracted himself from the oddness of Hannibal Lecter by cataloging where everyone else was seated around the table. Mason Verger was at the head, of course, and Will was at his right hand. To Will’s right, there was Beverly, then Emma, then Brian at the end. Jimmy was directly across from Will at Mr. Verger’s left hand, and next to him was Bedelia, then Hannibal, then finally Antony. 

Four on each side and one at the head of the table, officially making this the largest dinner party Will’s ever attended. Well, the only dinner party he’s ever attended, if he was being honest.

Will was glad that he wasn’t seated closer to Hannibal, although his skin was crawling from being placed directly adjacent to Mr. Verger.

Once everyone was seated, Mr. Verger clapped his hands together and stood up to address the table. 

“Good evening, everyone! Welcome to Muskrat Farm, my beloved family home,” he boomed, eyes twinkling. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Very much so, Mr. Verger,” Antony spoke up with a grin.

Mr. Verger grinned back. “We’re all friends here, so please! Call me Mason.”

Antony nodded and Mr. Verger - _Mason,_ Will mentally corrected - continued on. “You’ve all met Cordell, and _this_ is his staff.”

Four men in black suits came into the dining room then, each carrying two plates of food. Cordell, who was standing behind Mason, nodded once and the men set the dishes down on the table, one plate in front of each guest. The food was some sort of meat, asparagus, and buttery mashed potatoes. Red wine was also poured for each guest, completing the decadent display.

Will’s mouth watered at the sight, suddenly aware that he hadn’t had a meal like this in years.

“I haven’t had food like this in ages,” Brian muttered, echoing Will’s thoughts.

“Foie gras with leek mashed potatoes and garlic asparagus, complete with Château Lafite Rothschild, a bordeaux from France,” Mason narrated.

Hannibal swirled the wine in his glass and took a measured sip. “Delectable, Mason.”

Mason’s smile widened. “I am _so_ glad to have catered to your tastes, Dr. Lecter! Everyone, please, dig in. Enjoy!”

Mason sat down to pick up his utensils, everyone else following suit and tucking into their meal. Will had never had foie gras before, and was pleased to discover that it was amazing. He wasn’t one for wine either, but it worked very well paired with the liver and the vegetables. He did not drink much, mindful of both the whiskey he had earlier and the upcoming game.

He wasn’t the only one who was determined to be sober for the night. Across the table, Jimmy didn’t touch the wine offered to him, as expected of a recovering alcoholic. Will wasn’t the only one who noticed, either.

“How long have you been in recovery?” Bedelia inquired.

Jimmy smiled politely beside her. “About 15 years now. It was tough, but I completely — ”

“I think,” Mason interrupted rudely, “that we have just found our first opportunity to award some money tonight!”

Will glanced between Jimmy and Mason as he chewed his asparagus, starting to understand just what sort of “game” was about to start.

“Jimmy, I want to see you drink your entire glass of wine,” Mason stated cheerfully.

Jimmy paled. “I’m sorry, I can’t — ”

“You _can_ ,” Mason stressed. “But you won’t.”

Jimmy laughed nervously. “I-I don’t mean to be rude, but I _won’t_ do it.”

Mason took another bite of potatoes and laughed with him. “At least, not without a price! I’d say...hm… $5,000?”

Beverly coughed beside Will, and he scanned the table to see varying degrees of disbelief on everyone’s faces — everyone, that is, except Hannibal Lecter.

Jimmy stared at Mason, who cocked his head. “Not enough? Cordell, make it $10,000.”

Cordell slapped a stack of money on the table next to Jimmy, who let out a wounded noise. Bedelia hummed.

“You should do it,” she advised with a shrug, taking a sip from her own wine.

Jimmy swallowed. “My sobriety isn’t up for sale. I was an alcoholic, but I turned my life around.”

Mason giggled. “But you haven’t. Look at you! You’re still trapped in a pigsty of poor health and crippling debt. I’d hate to see what you looked like 15 years ago!”

Will raised his eyebrows. It seemed that Mason had no qualms about being cruel.

“Please,” Jimmy whispered, blinking rapidly. “I’ve fought hard, and I’m still fighting every day.”

“Is fighting worth $10,000?” Mason wondered aloud. “Let’s make this more interesting! Would you rather drink your little glass of wine for $10,000, or — ”

He nodded, and Cordell placed a full decanter of scotch and a very tall stack of money in front of Jimmy.

“ — drink this whole decanter of scotch for $50,000?”

Jimmy stared at the scotch and the money resting beside it. “You’re serious?”

Mason smiled. “Deadly. What will it be, Jimmy?”

There was a moment of silence, then a tear ran down Jimmy’s cheek and he grabbed the scotch. There were a couple sharp intakes of breath to Will’s right, but Will was not surprised at his choice. There were few things people would not do for money they desperately needed.

Mason tutted as he watched Jimmy drain the decanter. “15 years of discipline and commitment to cause...wiped away by a mere $50,000.”

Will felt a flash of irritation. _A mere $50,000?_ His dislike for Mason Verger deepened.

Down the table, Antony snorted with glee, Hannibal watched in amusement, and the guests on Will’s side of the table remained silent with wide eyes.

“That’s really nothing compared to what’s at stake tonight, but it’s a good example of the nature of our little contest!” Mason snapped his fingers and the wait staff removed everyone’s plates, Brian making a little noise of protest as he was only halfway through his foie gras.

“Most of you are here, essentially begging me for money,” Mason happily established.

_“Most” again,_ Will thought. His eyes slid to Hannibal and his high-quality suit. _Why are you here, Dr. Lecter?_

The others looked vaguely uncomfortable with being disrespected and exposed so casually, but Will didn’t let it phase him. Mason’s manners and superiority complex rubbed him the wrong way, but Will could withstand some shit-talk from an arrogant rich man if it meant Abigail would get a transplant. The money would greatly help in pulling them out of debt, too.

Will was a proud man, but he wasn’t stupid. Without Mason Verger’s connections, his sister wouldn’t live for much longer.

“Allow me to alleviate your concerns about the game,” Mason continued. “It is not a trivia contest or a test of brute strength. It’s really just a children’s game, one of my favorites in fact!”

Will looked at Jimmy, slumped over the table, and sighed.

“I’m sure everyone here is familiar with “Would You Rather” but if you weren’t before this evening, you are now after our little demonstration by Jimmy here!” Mason patted Jimmy’s arm fondly and Jimmy gave a dopey smile.

“In each round, each player will be given a choice between two options, neither very desirable,” Mason outlined. “You are required to act upon whatever choice you make. Players are eliminated as the game is played, until we are left with one winner!”

“How are players eliminated?” Will questioned, setting his elbows on the table.

Mason’s eyes twinkled. “If a player is no longer capable of continuing, or if they refuse to make a choice.”

Will nodded. Whatever crazy decisions Mason pushed him to make, he’d do it.

“Oh, and one more thing!” Mason exclaimed. “The dilemmas are timed. You have 15 seconds in the first round, and 30 seconds in subsequent rounds, or you will be eliminated.”

Beverly leaned forward then. “Isn’t this unnecessary? You have the ability to help all of us. Why do we have to play some stupid game?”

Mason scoffed. “The game is about rationality and decision making in its rawest form. Papa taught me that there’s no better window into a person’s character than the decisions they make while they are under duress!”

Emma spoke up then, her quiet voice demanding attention. “You’re putting us under duress?”

Mason smiled at her, any offense he felt at Beverly’s question wiped away. “The time constraint will do that, sweetheart.”

Will wanted to gag at the nickname, and when he looked away from Mason to hide his revulsion he caught a glimpse of Hannibal’s face. There was a twitch of displeasure, or maybe uncomfortability. Something small that flashed across his features before he put on his polite, interested smile again.

Will studied him, wondering what it was about Emma that pierced this flawless man’s armor.

“Tonight will test your limits,” Mason declared. “The game will prove which one of you people deserve my help.” His eyes slid to Hannibal. “Or my reward.”

Hannibal inclined his head.

“If anyone no longer wishes to play,” Mason drawled, “now is your chance to leave.”

There was silence as the guests, now players, eyed each other.

“Anyone?” Mason called.

Jimmy tapped his stack of money with a finger, but ultimately sighed and turned back to face Mason.

“How marvelous!” Mason cheered. “We have a full house. Cordell, if you would.”

Cordell bowed then walked briskly out of the room. Will watched as he left, anticipation growing in his stomach.

“Here we go,” Mason muttered with another disconcerting smile.

There was a beat of silence as everyone sat, frozen and waiting for the game to begin. Will’s eyes flicked to Hannibal, who was the only guest present who still looked to be genuinely enjoying himself.

Suddenly, the sound of something being wheeled on the marble floors drifted into the room. A few seconds later, the door opened to show Cordell pushing a cart covered by a heavy cloth into the dining room.

Cordell rolled the cart to the end of the table, opposite Mason and between Brian and Antony. Everyone’s eyes were fixed upon the covered cart, and there were gasps when Cordell ripped the cloth away to reveal an old-fashioned shock machine with two leather headbands with wires and metal plates attached.

Will only nodded to himself. He figured that Mason Verger was more than likely a sadist, and this proved it.

Jimmy’s chair screeched harshly as he staggered from his chair.

“I knew this was too good to be true,” he slurred, grabbing his stack of cash. “You just want to hurt us! Y-You people are just gonna sit there, and let this guy degrade you?”

Mason chuckled. “Looks like someone’s had a little too much to drink.”

Jimmy scowled. “That’s right! And I’m going home!”

He bumbled towards the door but Cordell easily blocked his path.

“You’ve already been given that chance,” Mason reminded gleefully.

“I don’t care!” Jimmy yelled. “I’m done with this! Go to hell, you — ”

There was a loud _BANG_ as Cordell drew a gun from his waist and swiftly shot Jimmy through the head.

Everyone jumped, Emma and Beverly screamed, Bedelia and Brian started shaking like leaves, and Antony cursed loudly. Will gripped the edge of the table as his ears rang, eyes wide as he realized just what kind of mess he’d gotten himself into.

Seated diagonally from Will, Hannibal was the only person who remained unaffected. He calmly took another sip of his wine and watched as Cordell signaled to the wait staff, and they dragged Jimmy’s body away.

“Fuck. What the fuck!” Antony gasped.

“Fuck,” Will agreed, releasing his hands from the table only to find them shaking.

Bedelia had her hand pressed to her chest, and everyone else was panting through the burst of adrenaline that shocked their bodies. Will looked down and fixated on the table, focusing on his breathing and trying to process what he had just witnessed.

He hadn’t expected this. He really hadn’t, but perhaps he should have. Mason was clearly cruel and sadistic, Will should have known that any games he was in charge of would be violent, and lethal.

_You can do this_ , Will told himself. _For Abigail. Just play, and survive, and win._

The wait staff was back now, except they had guns out and were motioning Brian back into his seat. Will swallowed. He didn’t even realize Brian had gotten up.

“Our first player eliminated, before the first round even started! What a shame,” Mason chided.

“Just to be clear,” Bedelia breathed, “that is what “elimination” refers to?”

Mason shrugged. “Yes.”

Everyone was still breathing raggedly, wrapping their minds around the true nature of the game. Will laughed semi-hysterically as he finally got his breathing under control, and Mason turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

Before he could scold Will, Hannibal diverted his attention.

“Mason, I’m afraid this isn’t ethical at all,” he mused. “Subjects should only choose to participate after given all the information.”

Mason laughed. “Dr. Lecter, we are in my home, not a hospital. Besides, since when have you been concerned with ethics?”

Hannibal raised his glass to him.

“I have to say, I am quite impressed that you’re taking this quite well!” Mason remarked. “Hearing about it is one thing, but experiencing it first-hand is quite another.”

“Is it?” Hannibal wondered aloud.

Will couldn’t bite his tongue anymore.

“Yes. It is,” he ground out. Hannibal caught his gaze and tilted his head. Will narrowed his eyes.

Emma cleared her throat and gripped Beverly’s arm.

“I would like to go home,” she whispered.

Mason snorted. “Well obviously, participation is no longer voluntary. Right, Cordell?”

“Yes, Mr. Verger,” Cordell agreed. He tucked his gun back into the holster that Will now saw, mentally smacking himself for not noticing earlier.

_It’s hard to notice things you don’t expect,_ Will thought, cutting himself some slack.

He took a deep breath again and tried to relax, watching as Cordell took one of the leather headbands and walked over to place it on Brian’s head.

“What the hell?!” Brian cried, jerking away.

One of the spare suits that Will now labeled as guards, not waiters, stuck a gun in Brian’s face and forced him to stay still. Cordell secured the headband to Brian’s head, making sure that the metal plates touched the skin on his forehead. 

Brian whimpered and clenched his fists when Cordell brought the shock machine to life with an electric hum.

Will watched with muted realization of this round’s dilemma as Cordell took the second headband and placed it onto Antony’s head.

“Oh fuck,” Antony cursed again.

“What is this?” Beverly demanded.

“Brian’s about to start us off!” Mason said happily. “So, Brian, what will it be? Would you rather electrocute yourself, or electrocute Antony?”

“Blue button is Antony, red button is you,” Cordell advised, setting a control switch on the table next to Brian.

Brian gulped, and Antony groaned.

“15 seconds,” Mason reminded, setting an old-fashioned timer on the table. “Starting now!”

“Don’t push it!” Beverly yelled at Brian. “Hold on a second — ”

“Don’t wait too long,” Mason laughed. “10 seconds now.”

Brian started breathing heavily, and he looked at Antony with an apologetic smile.

“Five seconds!” Mason cried.

“I’m sorry,” Brian choked out.

Antony’s eyes widened. “Wait — ! ”

He was cut off by his own spluttering when Brian jammed his thumb into the blue button and Antony’s body convulsed as sparks flew from his headband.

Emma yelped and Bedelia gasped loudly, but Will only sighed deeply.

The shocks stopped after a few moments and Antony’s body went lax, head lolling on the back of his chair. Cordell walked behind him and slapped his face a few times, until Antony gasped and blearily regained consciousness.

“Predictable, and boring!” Mason complained.

Cordell removed the headband from Brian, walked around the table, and fixed it onto Hannibal’s head. Hannibal sat up straight, exuding an air of confidence. Will wanted to roll his eyes at how relaxed he was, but more than that Will found himself wanting to see something break through Hannibal’s defenses and create a crack in his perfect façade. 

He hoped he could be the one to do that. It would be a privilege.

Will’s attention was drawn back to the present choice by Antony coughing lightly. Having regained consciousness and rationality, Mason set off the timer requiring him to make a choice.

“Tik tok, Antony!” Mason prompted.

Antony looked around the table frantically, but none of the other players could offer him any help. He swung his head around to look at Hannibal with wide eyes, thumb hovering over the red button designated for Hannibal.

“Five, four, three…” Mason counted down.

Hannibal tilted his head, and Antony gave himself a second shock.

This time his body seized more violently, and drool escaped from his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his shaking continued even after the electricity had stopped running through his body.

“Now that’s interesting!” Mason clapped.

“Dumbass,” Beverly muttered. Will agreed, although somehow it made sense that Hannibal’s reproachful gaze would naturally warn Antony away from administering a shock to him. Like how the sheep dares not poke the wolf.

“Dr. Lecter, it’s your turn,” Mason said politely.

Hannibal nodded, turning his gaze upon Bedelia next to him. The blonde woman looked back at him fearfully, swallowing more wine as Cordell fixed the headband onto her head. As soon as Cordell handed Hannibal the controls and informed him of the colors, Hannibal pressed a button.

Bedelia’s body went rigid as her head jerked violently, a large amount of volts running through her body.

“Jesus,” Will grumbled.

“I didn’t even need to set the timer!” Mason cheered. “You truly are amazing, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal smiled and bowed his head, making it easier for Cordell to take the headband off him and transfer it to Will.

Will sighed and braced himself, already knowing what was coming. There was no way Bedelia was going to shock herself a second time, unlike Antony. Will doubted that she would shock herself even if Hannibal had chosen not to electrocute her the first time. Will had only known Bedelia for an hour or so, but he already knew she was selfish.

As expected, Bedelia chose to shock Will after about five seconds of deliberation. The sudden burst of electricity zapped into his body, locking his muscles and shutting down his brain. Will felt like he was on fire, completely helpless against the excruciating pain engulfing his entire being.

Suddenly, it stopped. Will’s muscles unclenched all at once, but the rapid change didn’t bring him relief. It felt like ants were crawling on his skin, and his mind was still fuzzy. He couldn’t hear or see anything, until a hand slapped across his cheek and he gasped for breath.

Will opened his eyes and was reassured to find that his vision worked again. 

“Catch your breath Will, it's your turn!” Mason said, rewinding the old timer. 

As Cordell wheeled the shock machine around the table, Will stretched out his limbs, took a couple deep breaths, and glanced to his right.

Beverly was staring at him with an open mouth, fear pouring off her in waves. Will locked eyes with her, and leaned over slightly.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I can do another one.”

Beverly inhaled sharply. “No Will, don’t — ”

Cordell placed the second headband on her and handed the controls to Will. “Red for you, blue for Beverly.”

Mason started the timer, and Will took one last deep breath to brace himself before he smashed the red button and his body violently convulsed for the second time.

It was just as bad as the first time, maybe even worse because his nerve endings were so raw. Will felt as if he had been flayed with a hot knife and tossed into a roaring fire. His eyes rolled back into his head and drool fell out of his mouth, landing all over his cheap suit and the table as a result of his rough twitching.

He must have blacked out for a time, because the next thing he became aware of was Beverly anxiously shaking his arm.

“Will! Wake up, Will!” she pleaded.

Will moaned as his eyes fluttered open, and he rose a trembling hand to wipe saliva off his chin. There was an aroma of burnt flesh circulating, and he hoped that he didn’t lose too much skin to the shock machine.

“Interesting choice!” Mason marveled. Hannibal hummed in agreement.

Will groaned, collapsing onto the table.

“Horrible, isn’t it?” Antony sighed, shaking his head. “I was sure I’d die there for a second. It gets better!”

Will groaned again, and Beverly slammed her fist down.

“I can’t do this,” she hissed, glancing at Emma. The young girl was coiled tight in her chair, tears steadily running down her face.

Mason scowled. “You have to do it, Beverly. Make a decision, or you will be eliminated!”

A gun was pushed against Beverly’s temple, cocking with an audible _click._ Beverly squeezed her eyes shut once, and fumbled to squeeze Emma’s hand.

Emma whined when Cordell fit the headband onto her head.

“15 seconds,” Mason emphasized. “Starting now!”

Beverly removed her hand from Emma’s and gripped onto the controls.

“10 seconds!”

Beverly cursed, then pressed a button and convulsed violently in her own chair.

Will smiled lopsidedly against the table. Beverly seemed to be a good woman, which was exactly why Will had taken a second shock for her.

Emma cried hard as Beverly spasmed beside her, then cried harder when she stopped and Cordell took off her headband to place it back on Brian’s head.

“Whoa, again?!” Brian cried. “Come on, man!”

Mason laughed. “It’s Emma’s turn! Emma, you are the last one up. Would you rather electrocute yourself, or electrocute Brian?”

Emma whimpered and shook her head, but Cordell grabbed her arm and forced her to hold the control box.

“15 seconds sweetheart, come on!” Mason encouraged sadistically, then started the timer.

“Oh god,” Brian moaned.

Antony scoffed. “It’ll only be your first time.”

“Only if Emma chooses that option!” Mason reminded. “Five seconds!”

Emma sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

She pushed a button and Brian went stiff against his seat, electricity loudly running through his body. He jerked a few times, then the shocks stopped and his muscles unclenched.

“FUCK!” he yelled.

Mason laughed, clapping. “Good job, everyone! You all made it through the first round. We’ll take a two minute break as we prepare for the next round.”

Beverly stood up then, slamming her hands against the table. “I hate this! I’ll fucking do it, but I hate it! Jimmy was right, you’re crazy!”

Mason narrowed his eyes. “You would be wise to show me a little respect, Beverly. Even if you win the game, I might decide you’re too _ungrateful_ to receive the fruits of your labor.”

“You should show US a little respect!” Beverly screamed back. “We are people, not pets for you to play with!”

Will was now completely lucid again, thanks to enough time having passed and everyone’s yelling. He reached out a hand and tugged on the end of Beverly’s sweater, urging her to sit down and shut up. 

Antagonizing the man in charge was not a smart move. Will didn’t like this situation any more than she did, but they were in it now. There was no going back, there was only moving forward.

Beverly shrugged off Will’s hand, and Mason smiled. 

“Oh, Beverly. Don’t you know that respect depends on power?” he taunted. “And unfortunately, you have none.”

He waved his hand and a guard forced Beverly, fuming, back into her seat.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Will said quietly.

Beverly scoffed and turned to console Emma, who was still crying. Everyone else remained silent, staying obediently in their chairs. Will could practically feel their internal freakouts and his skin crawled as their anxiety bled into him. His focus gravitated towards Hannibal, who was drinking his wine and waiting patiently for the next round to begin. Will concentrated on the older man’s state of complete calm, purposefully empathizing with him to relax. 

It worked, although Will studied Hannibal for a few more moments than necessary. This unique, strange man was not all he seemed. Will could feel something slithering beneath the surface.

Hannibal met his eyes, and Will looked away.

Mason beckoned Cordell over to his side, then whispered something in his ear. The large man nodded, then pushed the shock machine cart out of the dining room. There were a few minutes of silence, then Cordell returned holding an icepick in one hand and a carving knife in the other.

Gasps echoed around the table, and Will’s eyes widened. This could be nothing good.

“In this round, you will each get 30 seconds to make a decision,” Mason said calmly. “Let’s begin with…. hmmm... Emma!”

Emma inhaled sharply, wild eyes flying to Mason. “What-What’s the question?”

Mason smirked. 

“Would you rather stab Beverly in the thigh with the icepick, or slice her across the wrist with the knife?”

Beverly cried out in terror, and Emma covered her mouth with her hands. Bedelia, Antony, and Brian gasped again, but Will growled at Mason. Hannibal raised his eyebrows and smiled, like he truly hadn’t expected this dilemma but was pleasantly surprised.

Will glared at him, and decided right then and there that he hated the _perfect_ Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He probably couldn’t wait until it was his turn to inflict some torture on Beverly. He was an altogether different kind of sadist from Mason, but a sadist nonetheless.

Mason wound the timer back up, and Emma whipped her head to Hannibal.

“You’re a doctor, right?” she begged. “If I do either of those things, will it kill her?”

Hannibal visually considered her question. “The thigh does house the femoral artery, and if that is punctured, then the result would more than likely be fatal. Cuts to the wrist are less certain to be life-threatening, but it all depends on the depth of the gash.”

“And whether the cut is vertical or horizontal,” Will added gruffly.

Hannibal’s eyes twinkled. “That too.”

“Your cut can be either horizontal or vertical,” Mason mused. “I’m not an unreasonable man. We’ve got to make sure everyone gets to have a turn in this round!”

Beverly started shaking, and Will squeezed her shoulder.

“It’s possible to survive,” he said firmly, trying to comfort her.

She swallowed thickly and nodded imperceptibly.

“Possible,” Hannibal agreed, “but unlikely.”

Will glared at him again, then Beverly cleared her throat.

“Let’s just get it over with,” she rasped.

“Quite right!” Mason remarked, starting the timer. “30 seconds starting now, Emma!”

Emma bit her lip as she raised a trembling hand to hover over the two weapons. She glanced at Beverly, then Hannibal, then back to Beverly before she lowered her hand and lightly touched the knife.

“A slice it is!” Mason applauded. “Now Emma, no tiny scratches. It has to be a cut, one that draws an appropriate amount of blood.”

Beverly laid her arm out on the table, exposed, without prompting. 

“How much is “appropriate”?” she said quietly.

Mason shrugged. “However much I say! Hurry up sweetheart, we don’t have all night!”

Emma was white as a ghost as she closed her hand around the handle of the knife and brought the tip of the blade to the top of Beverly’s wrist, just under her palm.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, staring at the small drop of blood that was already welling up under the edge of the knife.

Beverly grabbed her free hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. Just do it.”

Emma blinked a fresh tear and gasped as she quickly slashed the knife against Beverly’s wrist horizontally. Will watched as a thin line of blood appeared and grimaced. It wasn’t deep enough.

“Doesn’t count!” Mason singsonged. “Try again!”

Emma sobbed as she gripped the knife more firmly and pressed the blade against Beverly’s wrist, harder this time. She closed her eyes as she cut again, and Beverly cried out loudly. 

Will exhaled. It was a deep slash, so Emma wouldn’t have to do that again. However, Will was concerned. If this was the dilemma for everyone this round, then Beverly would get wounded at least five more times.

Could she take it, or would she bleed out?

“Brian, your turn! Would you rather stab Beverly, or cut her?”

Cordell placed the two weapons in front of Brian, the knife still dripping blood.

“Your time starts now,” Mason declared.

Brian stared at the knife and the icepick. “I-I don’t want to accidentally hit her artery. It’s better to cut, right?” He looked up with desperate eyes. “Right?!”

“Right,” Hannibal said unbothered.

“Probably,” Will gritted out.

“Goddamnit,” Brian choked, grabbing the knife and standing up.

“Another slice it is! Chop chop,” Mason drawled.

Beverly didn’t look up at Brian’s approach but wordlessly set her other arm on the table. Brian set the edge of the knife against the soft meat of her forearm, higher than where Emma had sliced. Mason tsked.

“The _wrist_.”

Brian swore and quickly moved the knife to cut deeply across Beverly’s wrist, earning a scream. Blood leaked out of the new slash rapidly, creating a large pool of blood on the table.

“She needs medical attention,” Will growled. “Dr. Lecter?”

Hannibal nodded at Will once, then turned to Mason.

“Absolutely not!” Mason warned.

Hannibal turned back to Will and shrugged.

Will cried out in frustration but didn’t say anything else. He couldn’t, not without getting himself shot; and if he did that, then Abigail would have no chance of getting a new kidney.

Cordell collected the used knife and pristine ice pick and placed them in front of Antony, who exhaled loudly. Mason started the countdown wordlessly.

“It’s become very fucking clear that this game is intended to only have one winner,” Antony murmured. “A _living_ winner.”

He glanced at Beverly, who was leaning back against her chair with her eyes closed, blood still seeping out of her wrists.

“I, for one, intend to be that winner.”

Beverly opened her eyes only to narrow them in Antony’s direction. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Antony picked up the knife. “Why do you think you’re being singled out? You should have kept your little mouth shut.”

With that, Antony quickly walked over behind Beverly and slit her right wrist, vertically this time.

Beverly screamed as her skin opened up and a new river of blood poured out. She was losing too much, and Will knew it wouldn’t be long before she bled out.

Mason seemed to realize the same thing. “Bravo! Okay, Dr. Lecter, it’s your turn. Let’s keep this moving while Beverly is still with us!”

“Quite right,” Hannibal replied.

“Slice or stab?” Mason inquired.

Hannibal elegantly picked up the icepick and drifted around the table to Beverly. Will rolled his eyes. Mason didn’t even need to set the timer, _again._

“Ooo, our first stabbing!” Mason said, excited.

Will curled his lip in disgust. He was very concerned that Hannibal chose to stab Beverly. He was a doctor, he knew where the femoral artery was, he could kill Beverly with one jab —

Beverly screamed again and Will winced at the sound, but when he looked over to see the damage, he was genuinely surprised to see Hannibal yanking the icepick out of Beverly’s thigh and only drawing out a steady dribble of blood, not a gush that would be expected from hitting a major artery.

Will raised his head to look at Hannibal, confused, and found that the older man was staring directly at him.

He winked.

Then he calmly handed the icepick to Cordell and returned to his seat.

Will blinked, entirely caught off guard by what just happened. Why did Hannibal choose to let Beverly live? He was obviously a sadist, but not a typical one like Mason Verger.

Why did he wink at Will?

Will swallowed, keeping his gaze on Hannibal even as Cordell placed the used weapons in front of Bedelia and Mason started the timer. What was Hannibal doing here? Why did he seem more interested in Will than in eliminating the competition? This was a game, but what was Hannibal here to achieve?

Bedelia brushed past Will, making her way to Beverly with the knife in her hand. This time Will didn’t flinch when Beverly screamed in his ear. His focus was entirely on the enigma across the table.

Will only tore his eyes from Hannibal’s when Cordell placed the two bloodied weapons in front of him. He heard Mason declare that his 30 seconds had begun, and glanced sideways at Beverly.

She was in rough shape. Her head was bowed and her arms were weakly resting on the table in front of her, her blood pooling and spreading to the rest of the table. It was already dripping off the edge and onto Will’s pants, and he furrowed his brow.

“15 seconds!”

Will stared at the weapons. No matter which one he chose, Beverly was almost certainly going to die. Wouldn’t it be better to end it quickly, and put her out of her misery? 

Besides, Antony was right. This was a competition. Will was here for Abigail, to earn her a kidney so that she could live. Was Beverly’s life worth more than his little sister’s?

Will already knew the answer to that. His face hardened, and he picked up the icepick with determination. Mason clapped, but Will ignored him.

He wasn’t a doctor, but he taught forensic psychology. He knew the femoral artery was somewhere along the inside of the thigh. Hannibal had stabbed the outside, very purposefully.

Will realized then that Hannibal had to show him the wrong place, for him to see the right place.

He also realized that his heartbeat had increased not from fear, but from excitement.

Will pushed back his chair but before he could drive the icepick into the inside of Beverly’s thigh, she let out a soft groan and fell sideways towards Emma, who shrieked and scrambled out of the way. Beverly tipped out of her seat, and hit the floor with a heavy _thud._

“Oh my god!” Brian exclaimed. “Is she dead?!”

Emma started sobbing again as Cordell leaned down to check Beverly’s pulse. Will released his grip on the icepick, dropping it with a clatter, and blinked as he met Hannibal’s gaze again.

Hannibal stared back at him, a smile slowly overtaking his features.

“She’s still alive,” Cordell announced. “Remarkable. But she is unconscious, and unable to continue playing.”

Mason sighed and stood up. “Let’s get her out of here, then. Everyone, excuse us for a moment.”

He gestured, and one of the guards stepped forward to help Cordell move Beverly. Mason followed after them, and suddenly there were six guests left alone with three guards.

* * *

Hannibal was having a rather enjoyable evening.

His most insufferable patient’s game of “Would You Rather” was playing out more or less as Hannibal expected. It was rife with violence, tortuous choices, and Mason’s distasteful brand of sadism. 

He was playing with these people, an activity that Hannibal understood as he often did the same, albeit not as explicitly. In fact, Hannibal thought he might do so soon as a treat, as he had already indulged himself in making obviously violent choices. He was curious if these people would trust his input and endure his slight manipulations, after witnessing his sadistic streak.

All in all, Hannibal was having fun. As expected.

However, there was one thing about the game tonight that Hannibal didn’t expect: Will Graham.

He had listened, intrigued, when Mason told him about Will Graham during their session. An adjunct professor in his thirties who was desperate to get his dying sister a new kidney. Will’s story was not unlike the other participants, but something about it piqued Hannibal’s interest. 

Will Graham graduated high school and went straight into the police academy, but he only spent a year on the force before leaving to attend university. He got his undergraduate degree in psychology, then obtained his masters degree in forensic psychology in order to become a professor teaching the same subject. His story was interesting, because those who join law enforcement typically veer into related fields such as public service or private security when they leave — but instead, Will Graham chose to become a teacher.

Such a career transition was highly unique, causing Hannibal to ponder what sort of man Will was. From the start, Hannibal’s mind set Will Graham apart from the other guests.

When Will walked into the parlor and Hannibal saw him for the first time, he knew that his instincts were correct.

Will Graham was beautiful. His bright blue eyes scanned the room with intelligence and cunning, drawing Hannibal’s attention off his conversation at the time. His face was slightly asymmetrical but his stubble did well to hide it. Hannibal wanted to spend hours drawing that face.

He wanted to see that face covered in blood.

He remembered avoiding Will’s gaze when he felt the other man focus on him, and going to consider Emma. The young girl was petite with shoulder-length, straight blonde hair. She strongly reminded Hannibal of Mischa, and he wondered if they had any traits in common beside the physical.

Now, after the second round of play, Hannibal accepted that they had a few.

Although Mischa never blubbered so much as Emma was doing presently, even at the end of her life, they were both smart. Emma had done well to ask Hannibal about the differential effects of cutting or stabbing Beverly, although it hadn’t mattered much in the end.

“No, no, no,” Emma muttered, rocking in her chair. “She’s not dead. No.”

Hannibal watched Will sigh and push Beverly’s chair out of the way, scooting his own chair next to Emma. “We can’t know either way.”

Hannibal hummed. “Best not to dwell on her anymore.”

Bedelia cleared her throat beside Hannibal, speaking for the first time since Jimmy was killed. The guards had cleared the wine glasses when they mopped Beverly’s blood from the table, thus Bedelia had no avoidance techniques left to her.

“We still have much of the game left to play,” she said softly.

Hannibal made brief eye contact with Will before leaning forward in a conspiratory manner, exaggeratedly glancing at the guards who were putting sheets of plastic around the table.

“That’s not strictly true,” Hannibal murmured. “All we need is a single moment.”

Antony inhaled sharply at Hannibal’s left. “To fight the guards and escape?”

Brian leaned forward as well. “We’ll need some kind of distraction.”

Hannibal nodded gravely. “If we all move at once, we can overpower them.”

Antony chewed his lip. “They all have guns, but if just one of us can get hold of one and start shooting, we’ll have a chance.”

Brian and Antony looked at each other and nodded seriously, Bedelia and Emma stilled in their seats, and Hannibal looked at Will with a small smile.

Will was looking back at him suspiciously. Hannibal’s smile widened, impressed and pleased that the man could so clearly see through his manipulations when no one else at the table could.

He was in awe when Will huffed, crossed his arms, and remained silent.

Hannibal looked back at Antony and raised an eyebrow. Antony breathed once, twice, then slammed his hands on the table and shouted, “NOW!”

Brian yelled out and tackled the guard closest to him, Antony doing the same to the guard behind him, and there was a brutal tussle over guns. That was, until the third guard recovered from his surprise and drew _his_ gun.

“Lecter, help us!” Antony grunted, succeeding in landing a hit against his opponent.

Hannibal just watched their efforts from the comfort of his chair, tilting his head smugly.

Brian spat out a mouthful of blood, the result from getting punched. “Yeah, this was your idea — ”

_BANG._ Brian’s chest sprayed blood onto Emma’s face as a bullet pierced his heart, and he collapsed on the ground. Dead.

Antony gasped in fear and turned to the third guard with his hands up, but the gunman did not hesitate and shot him as well, directly through the head.

A few drops of blood landed on Hannibal’s hand, which he nonchalantly wiped away on his trousers. Bedelia was stock still beside him, her fear acidic and making Hannibal’s nose twitch. Emma was practically hyperventilating next to Will, and Will was just staring at Hannibal again.

He couldn’t tell if Will was more angry or impressed. Both emotions were flashing across his face, in clear conflict with each other. It was quite fascinating to watch.

“That was cunning,” Bedelia swallowed, flashing Hannibal a quick smile. Hannibal raised his eyebrows and smiled back. Apparently, this woman was intelligent enough to ingratiate herself to him, recognizing him as the biggest competition.

Smart, but Hannibal wondered if Will was not the biggest competition purely because he was so deliciously unpredictable.

Indeed, Will heard Bedelia’s compliment and snarled.

Suddenly, Mason’s voice filtered into the room.

“Did you hear something, Cordell? I might have, but I can’t be sure over Margot’s incessant begging to help — ”

Mason walked through the door and stopped dead in his tracks, taking in the scene before him. Two people were dead on the floor and his guards were breathing hard after a fight, but Hannibal knew immediately that Mason was not concerned for the guards and only cared about the loss of two players.

Indeed, a second later Mason processed the state of the room and sneered. “What is this? You couldn’t threaten them into behaving?”

The guard who had killed Brian and Antony lowered his gun respectfully. “Sir, they were trying to overpower — ”

“Does it look like I care?!” Mason interrupted shrilly. “Get them out of my sight!”

The guards complied, scrambling to haul the dead bodies away. Hannibal held back a smirk, incredibly amused to see Mason so bothered. His manipulations proved fruitful.

Eliminating two players was a success, but the intense way Will was continuing to stare at Hannibal was the true victory.

“Well, that was some unexpected excitement!” Mason spat. “We are down to four, I’m going to have to make some minor adjustments to the rounds of play…”

Cordell leaned over to whisper in Mason’s ear, and Mason nodded jerkily.

“Yes, yes, go get it,” he hissed. Cordell bowed and left the room. Hannibal flexed his hand, excited to see what test was in store for them next.

Mason clapped once, making Emma jump and Will narrow his eyes. 

“Onto the next round!” he exclaimed, regaining his smile. “Now, when all — _most_ — of you were deciding whether or not to accept my invitation to play the game, you were essentially making a choice between the known and the unknown.”

Hannibal grinned at Will, whose face lit up in realization before glaring back. He was almost certainly jealous that Hannibal had prior knowledge of the game.

Hannibal realized with slight surprise that he wanted to reassure Will. He wanted to tell him that although he did know about the game, he did not know the exact details and thus the only advantage he had over the other players was the element of surprise.

Hannibal frowned inwardly. He was not used to the urge to explain himself to others. Did this mean that he cared what Will Graham thought of him?

Hannibal was pulled out of his internal musings by Mason continuing to explain. “You could continue to try and solve your problems as you were, the known, or you could take a chance on my game, the unknown. This next round uses that same concept!”

A loud, grating sound of wood being pushed against the hard floor emanated from outside the dining room. Hannibal tilted his head as Cordell appeared in the doorway, shoving a heavy wooden barrel into the room and situating it at the head of the table, between Hannibal and Emma.

“You going to let us clean up?” Will snorted.

Mason laughed. “No, Will. The barrel is for this round. Envelopes are being placed in front of you — ”

Cordell went around the table, slapping down envelopes addressed to each guest.

“ — specifically prepared for each of you, based on my personal tastes. They contain a card with the picture of an action on them. The unknown.”

Mason pointed to the barrel.

“You must decide between them, or the barrel. The known.”

Hannibal licked his lips. “And what does the barrel entail, Mason?”

Mason smiled widely. “Two minutes held underwater.”

Emma squeaked. “That’s not a choice! Nobody could survive that.”

“Actually,” Will muttered, “it’s possible.”

“Possible, but unlikely,” Hannibal chuckled, repeating his words from earlier.

Emma whined and Hannibal turned his attention to the envelope before him. It was black with his name, _Dr. Hannibal Lecter_ , embossed on the front in beautiful red script. He remembered Mason saying that he had prepared for Hannibal’s participation, and this must be what he meant.

Hannibal was curious what challenge had been specifically picked for him. He could survive two minutes in the barrel, undoubtedly. Hannibal had trained his body to its limits in multiple capacities, least of all lung capacity. He could hold his breath for three minutes if need be, four if he was pushing it. Two minutes would be easy, and he could finish this round unscathed.

But then he would never know what his card read, and what Mason chose for him.

“Will! You go first this time,” Mason decided.

Will cursed. 

Mason wound the timer up. “30 seconds!”

The clock started ticking, and Will glanced at the barrel. Hannibal could see his mind working out the probability of survival, taking into account his own abilities and limitations. 

“If I choose the barrel, are you the one that holds me underwater?” Will asked Mason. “Or will it be Cornell?”

“ _Cordell_ ,” Cordell hissed.

Hannibal smirked, knowing full well that Will was perfectly aware of Cordell’s name.

Will sighed dramatically and dropped his gaze to his envelope, before picking it up and opening it with nimble fingers.

“Ah, this should be interesting,” Mason snickered.

Will pulled out a 3x5 inch dark blue card and frowned. 

“What does this mean?” he asked, turning the card around so that everyone could see it.

There was one symbol, one number, and one picture on the card. At the top was a large question mark, and underneath was a picture of a barrel with the number _four_ inside it. 

Hannibal’s brow furrowed slightly. The barrel with the four was apparent — four minutes underwater, instead of two — but what did the question mark refer to?

“It means that you have another choice to make! A double-whammy,” Mason laughed loudly. “Choose one player to spend four minutes held underwater.”

Will laughed in disbelief. “Was this supposed to be hard for me? I thought these cards were designed to test our limits.”

Mason tilted his head in amusement. “That’s quite a façade you’re putting on, Will Graham. You don’t think I know about your empathy disorder, or your termination from the police force?”

Will visibly paled, and Hannibal blinked.

“You were fired after a year as an uniformed police officer because you failed to discharge your weapon during a stand-off with an armed suspect, and your partner got severely injured. What I’m wondering is, did your empathy for the suspect make you freeze? Or are you just a coward?” Mason mused.

Hannibal looked to Will with interest. Mason hadn’t shared that aspect of Will’s past with him during their session together. He was quick to inform Hannibal about the police officer-turned professor, but withheld the reason for that transition. The omission was almost certainly purposeful, and Hannibal was apprehensive about what else Mason may have kept to himself.

Will recovered from his shock rather quickly, and glowered at Mason.

“I’ve kept my empathy under wraps for years, hiding it from the psychiatric community because they’d surely poke and prod me like a worm in a petri dish,” he hissed. “How the hell did you find out about it?”

“I have my ways,” Mason waved off. “If anything, this should convince you that I have the influence to help your beloved sister.”

Will curled his hands into fists on top of the table and Hannibal zeroed in on the movement. If Will lost control of himself now and struck Mason, then he would surely be killed. Hannibal couldn’t allow that to happen, not when Will Graham was so intriguing. Hannibal wanted to see what he would choose.

“Will,” Hannibal murmured, reaching diagonally across the table to lay a steady hand on Will’s right fist. “Not now.”

He knew he had no right to talk to Will Graham in such a way. They were not lovers, nor friends. They were barely acquaintances. Yet, Hannibal felt as if Will called to something inside him, in a way that no one had ever done before. Hannibal had passing muses and many lovely pets, but Will Graham was the only person he had ever met that _captivated_ Hannibal.

There was something remarkable between them, and when Will relaxed his grip beneath Hannibal’s hand and raised his head, Hannibal knew that he felt it as well.

Will nodded once and pulled his hands away, Hannibal doing the same. Will’s eyes were newly calm and full of acuity when they flickered to Hannibal’s, and Hannibal _saw._

He saw Will’s thought process, so clear that the reasoning could have easily originated from Hannibal’s own mind. He saw how wary Will was towards him, how aware he was of Hannibal’s status as a predator. He saw Will’s desire to save his sister, and his determination to do so by any means necessary. He saw that desire merge with a more primal urge to punish Hannibal for being casually cruel.

But the longer Hannibal held eye contact with Will, the more he saw rationality extinguish the flames of passion. Will was smart enough to realize that if nothing about tonight had fazed Hannibal so far, and if he had advance knowledge of the game, then Hannibal would more than likely survive being dunked in the water for four minutes. Not to mention the possibility that if he eliminated Hannibal, then the two remaining women might join forces against him, as the largest remaining threat.

It was then that Will’s gaze left Hannibal, and shifted to Bedelia.

From the tilt of Will’s head to how his eyes flickered to Emma very briefly before settling back on Bedelia, Hannibal understood Will’s calculations. 

If Hannibal was no longer an option for the barrel, then it was between Emma and Bedelia. Will was surely confident that Emma posed no threat in the final rounds of the competition, and would be eliminated soon without his efforts. Bedelia posed the stronger threat, as she didn’t hesitate to slash Beverly’s wrist and flatter Hannibal’s intellect.

Hannibal looked at Will more closely, and was surprised to see a spark of emotion flash in his blue eyes as he stared at Bedelia. If Hannibal didn’t know any better, he would label it as jealousy.

“It’s a hard decision,” Will contemplated aloud. “But I can’t subject a young girl to the barrel.” 

Emma sighed in relief, giving Will an appreciative smile. Hannibal raised an eyebrow, immediately catching on to Will’s manipulation tactic.

He was directly telling Emma that he deliberately spared her life when he had the power to take it. People were predictable — with the exception of Will Graham himself — and Emma would almost certainly feel indebted to Will for letting her live. If she chose to open her envelope and revealed a card similar to Will’s in that it commanded violence against another player, then Will had just ensured that Emma would never select him for it. She would see it as an act of betrayal.

Hannibal smiled proudly. Will was proving to be a lion amongst the lambs.

“I choose Bedelia,” Will proclaimed.

“Oho!” Mason applauded. “I did not expect that, Will! Thank you for making this evening an enjoyable one.”

He turned to Bedelia, who was panting with fear and glaring at Will with as much hatred as she could muster through her terror. “In the barrel you go!”

Bedelia did not move, instead snapping her gaze from Will, to the barrel, to Mason, then finally to the guard standing beside her. Hannibal could practically hear the gears turning in her head, and leaned back in his seat to watch whatever desperate plan Bedelia scrambled together.

Bedelia stood slowly, moving in front of the guard but then stopping suddenly, still about five feet away from the barrel.

“Either walk over there yourself, or I’ll have someone drag you,” Mason sneered.

Bedelia closed her eyes tightly, and when the guard behind her nudged her forward with a shove Bedelia spun around and lunged towards the gun holstered at his side.

The act was so obviously hopeless that Hannibal was momentarily confused. Bedelia was an intelligent woman, she must have known that any attempts to escape would be fatal.

That’s when a light went off in Hannibal’s head and he understood. That was exactly Bedelia’s intention.

The guard had fast reflexes and grabbed Bedelia’s hands before they could reach his gun. The other guards whipped out their weapons, ready to shoot, but Mason gave a shout.

“Do NOT kill her!” he yelled. “She is going in the barrel, regardless of her efforts to earn a quick death!”

Bedelia cried out in anguish, her last-ditch suicide attempt foiled, and started pleading as the guard dragged her to the barrel.

“No, no, no, please no!” she screamed. “I don’t want to drown, I can’t, PLEASE! — ”

Her begging was abruptly cut off when the guard shoved her head underwater.

The water bubbled as Bedelia screamed into it, and she desperately lashed out with her limbs, kicking the barrel and scratching at the arm holding her head down. The guard grunted after Bedelia managed to land a deep scratch, and brought his other hand up to smash her face into the water with both hands.

Hannibal glanced at Will, whose intense eyes were completely fixed on watching Bedelia fight.

Bedelia continued to struggle but it was in vain. A few seconds later, her body went limp.

The guard held her underwater for a bit longer to be sure, then yanked her out by the hair and checked her pulse.

“Dead, Mr. Verger,” he said impassively, dropping her body to the floor where it landed beside Hannibal with a loud _thud._

Hannibal looked down at Bedelia and tsked. She should have pretended to be dead so that the guard would let her up sooner, but he supposed she was overcome by panic and unable to think rationally.

“She only lasted 30 seconds!” Mason guffawed. “And Will didn’t even flinch! Truly a disappointment.”

Hannibal’s gaze drifted off Bedelia’s waterlogged body to Will, and his breath caught.

Will looked completely unbothered for someone who just caused a woman’s horrible death. He yawned, then met Hannibal’s eyes with a raised eyebrow like, _What are you looking at?_

Hannibal had never seen anything more beautiful or bewitching in his entire life.

The way Will Graham had cunningly decided Bedelia’s fate while manipulating Emma at the same time, so effortlessly and indifferently. Hannibal had only experienced such deviousness in his own efforts, and had never found another to exhibit the same qualities.

Hannibal’s heart beat faster in his chest and he feared his face flushed. 

Will Graham was a lion, even if he hadn't fully accepted it yet. They were the only two true lions in the world.

Hannibal felt a dizzying wave of attraction wash over him. He hoped that he could show Will the wonderful truths of themselves. Hannibal had never wanted to show anyone his entire self, but in that moment he wanted to show Will everything.

“Leave her there for now,” Mason instructed. “We’ll clean up after the round is over. Emma, your turn!”

Emma moaned and fisted her long blonde hair, now in complete disarray from her hysterics. Hannibal swallowed roughly and forced his attention off Will’s aloof expression to Emma’s shaking hands, opening her envelope.

“Don’t want to try the barrel?” Mason chuckled.

Emma shook her head violently, fumbling to remove her card. 

“Hold on,” Will interrupted. “What was on Bedelia’s card?”

Mason laughed. “For her, I thought pulling all her teeth out would be a nice test. She doesn’t do well with dental pain. Or, well, she _didn’t.”_

Hannibal ignored Mason and watched Emma’s efforts in removing her card from the envelope. As soon as she wrangled it free, she gasped and flung it to the center of the table.

Hannibal glanced at her wild eyes then leaned forward to make out a small symbol of a lighted firecracker on the fine paper.

“What is it?” Emma whimpered.

“Nothing much,” Mason giggled. “You just have to light off a firecracker in your hand.”

Cordell set a tiny firecracker, about three inches long with a short fuse, down on the table in front of Emma.

Emma inhaled sharply and tried to scramble away, but Cordell pressed a gun against her cheek. She froze, and started crying.

“That’s not a normal firecracker,” Will ground out. “That’s a quarter stick.”

Mason hummed. “You know, you’re right. Emma, move away from the table. You’re going to make an awful mess.”

Emma choked out a sob and stood with shaking legs, leaving the quarter stick on the table.

Mason let out an annoyed noise. “If she won’t hold it herself, secure it to her hand. Cordell!”

Cordell nodded and removed the gun from Emma’s face to retrieve a roll of duct tape. He grabbed the quarter stick, slammed it into Emma’s palm, and taped her hand into a fist so that only the short fuse of the firecracker was visible and sticking out.

Hannibal locked eyes with Will. Emma was strong, but the explosion would blow her hand off. Would she survive it, or would she immediately go into shock?

“It’s possible it’s a dud,” Mason mused.

Emma gasped, snapping her head up to look at him with desperate hope.

“Then again, maybe it’s not,” Mason shrugged. “Only one way to find out! Cordell, light it.”

Emma whined again, louder, and clenched her eyes shut as Cordell got out a lighter and lit the end of the fuse. It sparked and hissed, the distinctive sound acting much like the ticking of Mason’s timer in that it inspired Emma to begin sobbing harder. All eyes were on Emma as the fuse ran down fully and the hissing stopped.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then suddenly, there was an ear-splitting _BANG_ and Emma screamed in blinding agony. The quarter stick had gone off, taking her left hand with it.

Emma collapsed onto the floor, screaming, and Hannibal craned his neck to catch sight of blood pouring out of the stump at her wrist. The room smelled like burnt flesh, the scent nauseating to Hannibal because of his heightened sense of smell. The last time he had smelt burnt flesh, it had been….

“She’s alive,” Cordell stated.

Mason winced. “Yes, I can tell by her ceaseless screaming. For God’s sake, gag her or something!”

Cordell nodded once and gestured at another guard, prompting him to remove his tie and wrap it around Emma’s head, gagging her mouth and muting her screams.

Hannibal brought his hand up to pinch his nose shut, blocking the awful smell. He forcefully shoved the intrusive bad memories aside, and opened his envelope with one hand, unprompted.

“Ah, _Hannibal’s_ anxious to go!” Mason cried, eyes sparkling with malice. “Go on, I think you’ll like your card!”

Hannibal opened the envelope to set the card on top and frowned slightly.

His card was more detailed than the others’. At the top was the picture of a young blonde woman, in pop art style, mouth wide open in a scream and face scrunched up in pain. Below her was the image of a scale, the kind found at a Butcher shop, with a mass of meat on it and the number _five_ printed on the scale.

“What is that?” Will voiced, confused.

“ _That_ is Hannibal’s card, specifically created to test his limits!” Mason smirked. “He must take five pounds of flesh from a young blonde woman, using no weapon but his teeth!”

Hannibal gasped and felt his world tip sideways. His heart rate increased, his palms grew sweaty, and he blinked rapidly to try and fight the black spots that were threatening to overtake his vision. He hadn’t had a panic attack in years, in _decades_ , but Mason Verger had succeeded in triggering him.

How did Mason know? How did he know about Mischa? How did he know?!

“ _How do you know?_ ” Hannibal gasped out, eyes widening.

Mason laughed in delight. “I told you I was making preparations for your participation, doctor! It took some digging, but I located the headmaster of the boarding school you attended in Paris when you were a boy. He’s very old now, on death’s door in my opinion, but he was lucid enough to remember those days and tell us about you!”

Hannibal was vaguely aware of Will gripping his hand and repeating his name, but his attention was solely focused on Mason Verger chuckling and explaining how he knew about Hannibal’s trauma like it was a funny tale.

“It took some bribing of course, but he told us about your past. A poor rich little orphan boy, parents and sister killed by the soviets during the occupation of Lithuania. He also told us about the rumors sticking to you, about you being forced by the soldiers to eat your sister’s flesh, just for laughs!”

Mason laughed loudly, then quieted down. “Of course, he was quick to tell us that they were just rumors, with likely no substance to them, but I knew better! You are always so put-together Dr. Lecter, always so _above_ the rest of us. How does it feel, to be reduced down to the worst memories of your life and forced to relive them?!”

Hannibal was shaking now, images flashing through his mind like lightning. Mischa, running through the field close to their home, her straight blonde hair whipping around in the wind. Mischa, crying in the snow next to Hannibal as their parents were killed right in front of them. Mischa, eyes dead in the pantry, the soft flesh of her arm sliced off and plopped into Hannibal’s soup.

Hannibal scrunched his eyes shut and a tear ran down his face. The world was swirling around him, and he couldn’t think clearly. He felt out of control, and he hated it. He hated it almost as much as he hated the memories behind his eyelids, or Mason Verger laughing beside him.

Suddenly, a firm hand slapped Hannibal across the face and he gasped, eyes shooting open. The pain was biting, and it shocked the panic out of him. Hannibal heaved a deep breath, blinking a few times to see Will leaning across the table, hand still outstretched.

“Hannibal,” he murmured. “You’re not there anymore. You’re _not._ ”

It was a simple message, but one that flooded Hannibal’s body with relief and allowed him to focus on his card, although he was still shaking.

Mason had succeeded. He had struck Hannibal in the tiny chink in his armor, hitting his pressure point. Emma resembled Mischa too much, Hannibal expected that Mason manipulated her into attending tonight for this exact purpose.

Hannibal’s terror was fading, and his anger was growing.

Panting, he glanced up to see all four guards, plus Cordell, training their weapons on him.

“Don’t even think about it, Dr. Lecter,” Mason preened, kicking his feet up on the table. “You might be the oldest man here, but I know for a fact that you’ve got some muscle hiding underneath that fancy suit! You will do the option you chose, or be eliminated.”

Hannibal opened his mouth in a snarl, his person-suit growing holes.

Will placed his hand on Hannibal’s again, meeting his blazing eyes firmly.

“Hannibal,” he said. “Not now.”

They were the same words he said to Will earlier, when Mason had revealed his secrets and forced him to confront them. Will had handled it better than Hannibal had, but as they stared at each other Hannibal knew that Will was just as enraged.

But _not now,_ he said. They would not unleash their wrath on Mason now, when Will still needed Mason to provide for Will and his sister.

Hannibal didn’t know why he was taking Will’s needs into account at such a significant moment, but he was.

“Soon,” Hannibal growled. Will agreed with a slight nod, and Mason groaned.

“Come on!” he complained. “Stop dilly-dallying!”

Hannibal snarled again but rose from his seat, briskly walking around the table to kneel next to Emma curled up on the floor, crying her eyes out and sobbing silently.

He clenched his eyes shut, opened his mouth, and surged forward.

Emma screamed through the gag as Hannibal sank his teeth into her exposed arm, biting down and ripping out a piece of meat. Hannibal spat out the meat onto the scale Cordell had placed beside him on the floor, and Emma screamed again when Hannibal bit into her other arm.

It was brutal, and bloody, and not enjoyable at all. Hannibal took no pleasure in the act like he did when he killed and cannibalized people in his spare time. There was nothing elegant about this, nothing _beautiful._

He spat out two more mouthfuls of Emma’s flesh and Cordell clucked behind him. “One pound left, I’m afraid.”

Hannibal looked down at Emma. She was unmoving, eyes closed, face pale. Blood was haloing around her entire body, leaking out of the stump at her arm and the bites Hannibal had taken from her arms and legs. There was too much blood, and Hannibal had been both a doctor and a killer long enough to know that she was close to death.

Hannibal took a deep breath, and ripped her throat out.

Emma let out a short moan, then went entirely limp. She was dead.

Hannibal spat out the last mouthful of flesh then stood up, walking back around the table and slouching into his seat. 

“Wow,” Mason breathed. “What _are_ you?”

Hannibal wiped blood off his mouth, panting, and ignored him. He flicked his eyes across the table to gauge Will’s reaction.

Will was staring at him, mouth agape, in an expression Hannibal could only classify as _wonder._

“Whatever you are, I like it!” Mason decided. “I couldn’t have asked for a better psychiatrist! Now, allow us a few minutes as we clean up the damage from this round. I promise we’ll start the last round soon!”

* * *

Mason and his men left to clean up the bodies, but Will could only focus on the beast of a man sitting across from him. A beast that, despite Will’s latent morality screaming at him, called out to him like a brother.

Will had known that there was something off about Hannibal, some secret he was hiding. Will was surprised to find that the secret was _himself._

But then again, he wasn’t surprised at all.

He didn’t know Hannibal. He knew nothing about his career, his family, where he lived, or his experiences. Mason had filled in a few of the blanks, but there was still a large void that was Hannibal Lecter. Will didn’t know the facts of his life.

But he knew who Hannibal _was._

Hannibal was a man, and a monster. He was cruel, and sadistic, and delighted in wickedness.

Will knew, because he delighted in wickedness too.

He shared that appreciation with Hannibal, that pleasure in holding power over others. Will wasn’t as universally cruel as Hannibal was, but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed condemning Bedelia to death, or chose to do nothing to stop Brian and Antony’s. The darkness inside him was the same darkness that was inside Hannibal.

Will _saw_ him.

Through his shock and panic, through his fury and unhinged savagery, Will saw Hannibal. He unleashed his empathy on Hannibal in those moments of vulnerability, and it was like seeing himself through a new lens.

Will did not enjoy watching Emma die so brutally, but he loved watching Hannibal unleash his wrath. When Hannibal stood, covered in blood and absolutely dripping, Will’s breath caught in his throat.

He was beautiful.

Will sat at the table across from Hannibal, both of them alone in the room, and realized that he’d never felt as deeply connected to someone as he did to this man. Even Abigail, who he loved dearly, did not fully understand him.

Hannibal understood Will, and Will understood Hannibal. All without needing to speak a single word.

In the back of his mind, Will knew it could just be the adrenaline talking. People who experienced traumatic events together tended to share strong bonds, and that could be the reason behind his feelings for Hannibal. It could be, but Will didn’t think so.

The situation, Mason’s game, was indeed shocking to both of them, but it didn’t fabricate Will’s feelings. It revealed their true selves, allowing their similar natures to be seen and accepted.

Hannibal had calmed down by that point, his breathing evened out and his muscles relaxed. His eyes were still burning with anger, with the need to punish Mason for crawling under his skin. Will saw, and he understood.

He wanted to punish Mason too.

But he also needed to get Abigail a kidney.

The door opened then, announcing the arrival of Mason and his men. Will and Hannibal broke their gaze to watch Mason stroll back to his chair, holding a cup of tea.

Mason sighed happily as he sat down and took a sip of his drink.

“And then there were two,” he stated.

Will and Hannibal locked eyes again, this time an undeniable current of electricity passing between them.

“We’re in the final stretch now,” Mason chuckled. “There have been a few curveballs to tonight’s game, I know, but it’s also been one for the books! Honestly, I’d be happy if either of you won.”

He sighed then, and took another sip of his tea.

“But I’m afraid,” he said sadly, “there can only be one winner.”

Cordell stepped forward, placing a small wooden case on the table and unlatching the locks.

“The game will very likely end with the first question in this last round,” Mason laid out. “The player who goes first in this round has a decided… advantage. So, we will flip a coin to see who goes first!”

Cordell, who finished unlocking the case but left it closed, held out a large silver coin.

“Heads will be Will, and tails will be Hannibal,” Mason determined.

Will and Hannibal continued staring at each other as Cordell flipped the coin. It was only when Mason let out a delighted laugh that Will tore his gaze away to the coin atop Cordell’s hand.

What he saw made him shiver.

“Heads!” Mason smirked. “Will, you’re up!”

Cordell pocketed the coin and reached for the wooden case, sliding it across the table and opening it before Will.

Laid delicately on a bed of soft felt was an antique flintlock pistol.

“Would you rather,” Mason began, “end the game right now, you and Hannibal free to leave alive, but empty handed. Meaning, no help for your sister. _OR_ — ”

Mason gestured to the gun.

“ — would you rather take this dueling pistol, with a single round in its chamber, and eliminate Hannibal, claiming victory for yourself and salvation for your sister?”

Will picked up the gun, feeling the old, worn wood against his palm. He traced a finger down the edge of the barrel, and started to think.

“30 seconds to decide,” Mason chimed, starting the ticking of the timer.

Will took a breath. Leaving without help for Abigail wasn’t an option, but the bright side would be that he and Hannibal would both be alive. Will hadn’t cared at all about Hannibal’s life up until the previous round, but after going through it and seeing each other… he didn’t want to give that up. He didn’t want Hannibal to die.

But he didn’t want Abigail to die either, and the choice was his life or hers.

Will had never killed anyone before tonight, but he discovered a truth about himself when he killed Bedelia. He _liked_ it.

Part of him felt guilty for liking it, but he did. He didn’t doubt that he would like killing Hannibal too, at least until the gravity of what he had done inevitably set it.

Will thought about each option, killing Hannibal directly or killing Abigail indirectly. He didn’t know what to choose, didn’t know what to do.

Until he looked up into Hannibal’s eyes, and a third option presented itself in the passion shining there.

“Time’s up!” Mason cried. “Which is it, Will?”

Will raised the gun and pointed it at Hannibal’s chest.

“That’s what I thought!” Mason cackled. “That’s usually what people choose, and you’re nothing special — ”

Mason was cut off with a _BANG_ as Will quickly moved his wrist to point at Mason’s chest and shot a bullet directly into his heart.

Will had no time to relish in the sight of Mason spitting up blood in shock, because he jumped out of his chair and immediately punched the guard that was directly behind him.

At the same time, Hannibal sprang from his seat and pounced on the guard closest to him, cleanly snapping his neck with a resounding _crack_.

Will grabbed the guard’s gun as he reeled backwards, and quickly swiveled to shoot at Cordell and the other guards scrambling for their weapons around the table. It may have been about 15 years since he was a police officer, but he was still a good shot.

Cordell and two other guards fell to the ground, dead, and when Will turned to take out the last one, he was met with the sight of Hannibal throwing the body aside, neck freshly snapped.

Will automatically dropped the gun and leaned back against the wall, head spinning.

Had he really just done that? Had he chosen to kill Mason Verger, letting Hannibal live but at the same time losing Abigail’s only hope of a timely kidney transplant?

Did he really value the life of this man he had just met over his own sister’s? Even if he was the only person who had ever understood Will, because they were the same?

Will stumbled over past the bodies and over to Hannibal’s side of the table, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight he found there.

“Uhhh…. What are you doing?” Will asked blankly.

Hannibal glanced over his shoulder from where he was hovering over one of the bodies, a combat-grade knife in his hand and blood slicking his arms. “You said your sister needs a kidney, correct?”

Will nodded dumbly.

Hannibal turned back to the body. “We have six potential matches here we can test for, and if they do not match then I have a number on ice in my basement — ”

Will surged forward, yanking Hannibal up by his shirt and plastering their lips together in a bruising kiss.

Hannibal kissed him back just as passionately, gripping him tight and surely staining Will’s best suit with blood. Will couldn’t bring himself to mind. In fact, he wanted there to be stains. They were physical proof that he had Hannibal, and Hannibal was going to help him save Abigail.

Will released his grip on Hannibal and broke their kiss, breathless and wild-eyed. Hannibal smiled at him and opened his mouth to speak, but Will shushed him.

“You never got a turn in the last round,” he murmured.

Hannibal smirked. “What is my dilemma then, dear Will?”

Will smiled. 

“After you help find my sister a matching kidney, would you rather leave us and never see each other again?” Will tilted his head. “Or would you rather... stay with me?”

Hannibal’s eyes sparkled, and he leaned in to kiss Will a second time.

“Cunning boy,” Hannibal murmured as he pulled back, his breath hot over Will’s lips. “Where else would I go?”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments greatly appreciated <3
> 
> I am not writing a sequel, but just know that Margot made sure Beverly survived, Abigail gets her transplant, and Hannigram live happily ever after as Murder Husbands!


End file.
